


make a mess

by ohvictor



Category: A3! (Video Game)
Genre: Drabble Collection, Established Relationship, Kissing, M/M, Mild Hurt/Comfort, Sharing Clothes, kabedon
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-11-15
Updated: 2020-07-20
Packaged: 2021-01-31 01:00:50
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 8
Words: 3,926
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21437593
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ohvictor/pseuds/ohvictor
Summary: A collection of <1k-word drabbles containing mature- or explict-rated content. See beginning note for more info, and see each chapter's beginning note for individual warnings (including spoiler warnings).1) omi/kazunari, mature (kabedon)2) chikage/itaru, explicit (appellation)3) chikage/itaru, mature (clothes swap)4) citron/itaru, mature (post-clockwork heart, mild hurt/comfort)5) chikage/itaru, explicit (conveniently placed tissue box)6) citron/itaru, mature (act 8 spoilers)7) omi/kazunari, mature (kissing)8) chikage/itaru, mature (inner palace ladies event)
Relationships: Chigasaki Itaru/Citron, Chigasaki Itaru/Utsuki Chikage, Fushimi Omi/Miyoshi Kazunari
Comments: 9
Kudos: 277





	1. omi/kazunari, mature

**Author's Note:**

> uhhhhhhh. in the end i felt better about separating my sfw drabbles (found [here](https://archiveofourown.org/works/21328900/chapters/50796772)) from the nsfw ones, so i'm starting this drabble collection. this will include M and E rated drabbles, and i'll mark them accordingly!

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> kazuomi is a rarepair that my server came up with on a whim and then quickly got way too attached to LOL. there aren't any spoilers here!

“Omimi,” Kazunari breathes, body-checking Omi against the vending machine. He tosses a quick glance over each shoulder to make sure no one’s coming down the hallway, and then leans up into Omi’s face, his nose grazing Omi’s cheek. “You should— No one’s coming, so you should kabedon me against this vending machine.”

To his credit, Omi doesn’t laugh; maybe he’s used to his boyfriend asking him to do silly things by now. A corner of his mouth twitches. “Here? Now?”

“Did I stutter?” Kazunari asks, now fisting his hands in the soft leather of Omi’s jacket. 

“This is your academic building,” Omi says, and he’s _definitely_ amused now, his voice reflecting the growing smile on his face. “You have— Which class is it, here...?”

“Doesn’t matter. I think about you pressing me against this vending machine twice a week. ‘Cause that’s when I have class here,” he adds. Might as well give Omi one less reason to tease him. 

“That’s— That’s not the intended purpose,” Omi says, and then chokes, “Really, the vending machine is more for _quenching_ thirst than _creating_—“

“Omimiii_iiiii_,” Kazunari whines. 

Omi sighs without malice. “Aren’t you pushing _me_ against it right now, anyway?”

Kazunari steps back immediately. That’s acceptance, right? “Come on, come on. Get into position!!”

Still wearing that teasing smile, Omi steps back from the glass front of the vending machine, making a space for Kazunari that Kazunari quickly steps into. Ever dramatic, Kazunari presses his back against the vending machine, feeling the electronic hum vibrate through his body. He looks up at Omi, and finds Omi’s smile has turned fond. 

Then Omi blinks, and a shift of his jaw turns the smile from fond to _intentional_.

Omi steps forward in one liquid motion, shifting the weight of his body forward with the lazy certainty of a predator. He lifts one arm and slams his palm onto the vending machine front just above Kazunari’s shoulder, and the whole machine shakes with heady tremors that nearly mask the way Kazunari shivers hard. Omi’s steel eyes are fixed on Kazunari, holding him captive, pinned easily to the vending machine like a fly caught in a web, like a wolf staring down a deer. Omi lifts his jaw, surveys Kazunari down the bridge of his nose, and with Kazunari’s eyes following every movement, licks his lips. 

Kazunari’s knees give out. 

He tips sideways and belatedly yelps aloud. But before he’s fully processed that he’s falling, Omi’s strong arms have caught him and set him back on his feet, his back against the vending machine now for stability. All the bite is gone from Omi’s expression, replaced with concern. 

“Are you okay,” he starts. 

“Damn it, why didn’t you let me get on my knees, I wanna be on my knees in front of you right now,” Kazunari babbles. He remembers he has hands and reaches for Omi’s jacket again, grasping it as tightly as his weak gay body will allow. 

Omi looks torn between concern and laughter. 

“We’re in _public_,” he settles on eventually, “but, noted.” He sighs, and ruffles Kazunari’s hair. “Did I fulfill your wild fantasy?”

“I guess.” Kazunari bats his eyelashes, and tugs gently at Omi’s jacket flaps. “But now I have another one...”


	2. chikage/itaru, explicit

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> spoilers in that chikage exists. do NOT @ me for this /j

Itaru’s getting close, Chikage can tell. He’s gripping at the bedsheets and his back is starting to arch, and Chikage has to take care to keep the motions of his hand steady as Itaru starts to shake. He’s also mumbling something, his lips moving but his voice too quiet for Chikage to catch from between Itaru’s legs, over the shuffle of blankets and the soft wet sounds of his hand. 

“What are you saying,” Chikage says. His voice comes out embarrassingly breathless; he clears his throat, and tries again. “Casting some sort of spell?”

“Nothing,” Itaru pants. He bucks his hips, pushing his dick into the space between Chikage’s fingers and palm, and his lips continue to form silent words. Chikage narrows his eyes. 

“Tell me,” he demands, and he stills his hand on Itaru’s cock. 

Itaru whines loudly. “_Fuck_ you, I’m so— I need to—“

Chikage traces his thumb up the side of Itaru’s cock, gazing evenly into Itaru’s eyes. Itaru’s red-cheeked, and even tearing up a little... Damn it, that’s cute. It makes Chikage want to tease him even more. 

“Tell me or I’ll stop,” he says. 

“Nnn,” Itaru responds. He wriggles his hips this way and that, seeking out friction, and Chikage removes his hand altogether from Itaru’s cock, letting it droop sadly to rest against his thigh. 

“_Senpai_,” Itaru snaps. 

“What were you saying,” Chikage presses. 

Itaru squirms for another moment, and then sighs. He screws his eyes shut, his body going limp and pliant again. “Touch me again and I’ll say it.”

Somehow, Chikage trusts this; or rather, he has a hunch about what Itaru was mouthing, and maybe it should be like this. Or maybe he’s just impatient to see Itaru come apart. Whatever the reason, he relents, moving his hand back to Itaru’s dick. He gives it a few slow strokes, getting Itaru back into the mood, and sure enough Itaru sighs and lifts his hips to meet Chikage’s hand. 

His eyes are still tightly closed, but he takes a breath, wets his lips with a swipe of his tongue. Chikage strokes him faster now, and he can practically feel Itaru approaching his orgasm as Itaru shudders and gasps. 

“Chi— Chikage-san,” he pants, the syllables falling heavy from his tongue. His eyes fly open, and he meets Chikage’s startled gaze. “Chikage-sa... Chikage-san—“

His dick twitches in Chikage’s hand, and it takes all of Chikage’s training (not for this purpose, originally, but he’s creative) to keep his hand going as Itaru comes, painting Chikage’s hand and wrist with strings of white. Chikage barely notices, because suddenly it feels like his whole body is a furnace, especially his face, and he pleads with his dick, _that’s not even my real name, don’t react so shamefully_, but that doesn’t stop him from nearly creaming his pants at the indignity of it all. 

For Itaru’s part, he lays there boneless once his orgasm has finished, giving Chikage time to discreetly take a few deep breaths and collect himself. 

“What was that all about,” he snaps once he gets his voice back. 

Itaru shrugs one tired shoulder. “You’re the one who _demanded_ I say it out loud.”

“What’s with that. What’s with you saying my given name when I’m touching you. Like some kind of BL.”

Itaru lifts his foot as if to kick Chikage in the face; Chikage’s reflexes are too good for this, and he grabs Itaru’s ankle and holds him captive. Itaru whines. “Shut _up_. It totally feels like a BL.”

Chikage laughs in spite of himself. “Then why did you do it.”

“Sometimes BL tropes are okay!” Itaru tries with his other foot this time, and Chikage grabs this too, now with his come-covered hand. “Oh, _gross_, Senpai—“

“Oh, so when I’m making you come, I’m _Chikage-san_, but when your come is on my hands, I'm—“

“Shut the fuck up,” Itaru wheezes, covering his face with his hands. Chikage is vindicated to see Itaru’s blushing fiercely. “Shut up. I'll never do it again, leave me alone.”

Oh. Now this presents a dilemma. Chikage wouldn’t _object_, per se, to it happening again—but he can’t tell Itaru that, and Itaru certainly won’t do it again by himself after this treatment. Maybe it’s too good to be true, Chikage thinks ruefully. Nothing gold can stay, et cetera. 

Besides, now he has a very nice memory of Itaru coming with Chikage’s name on his lips, and he can probably get through at least three jerkoff sessions with that alone. 

“Fine,” he says neatly, and releases Itaru’s feet, dodging as Itaru immediately aims a retaliatory kick at his shoulder.


	3. chikage/itaru, mature

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> this is like... barely mature rated but i wanted to be safe

Chikage can't stop looking at Chigasaki wearing his DECE jacket. It's ridiculous, and he knows Chigasaki knows too, with that stupid smug look on his face, which is humiliating. Chigasaki hasn't zipped the jacket up either; he's almost wearing it just like Chikage does, except his arms aren't in the sleeves all the way, leaving the cuffs to flap uselessly at the ends of his arms, exposing hints of fingertips as he moves. 

Chikage wants to chop them off. He wants to slam Chigasaki against the wall and kiss him, cup his cheeks roughly with the backs of his hands brushing the collar of the stolen jacket. He wants to bury his head under a pillow and never come out.

"Pull your damn sleeves up," he mutters, shoulder-checking Chigasaki as he passes him en route to the kitchen. 

Chigasaki lifts one of his stupid sleeve-covered hands to his mouth, hiding what Chikage knows is a smirk. "I can't, senpai~ You're too tall, your sleeves are too long on me~"

"You're only a few centimeters shorter than me," Chikage says, hoping Chigasaki doesn't hear how strangled his voice comes out. 

"It really makes a difference in some areas, though." Chigasaki's smirking openly now. Chikage looks around the kitchen and debates the ethics of pushing Chigasaki against the fridge and biting his way down his neck right now. Well, none of the minors are around, but Omi might object. Or maybe he'd be polite and turn the other way. Or maybe Chikage needs to get some fucking self control.

"I think I'll retire to bed," he decides, filling a glass of water at the sink. He looks back at Chigasaki, his eyes narrowed. _Take the hint_.

Chigasaki takes the hint, examines it, and then throws it in the fucking garbage. "Tired already, senpai? I'm going to hang around out here for a while. Got a lot of stamina to grind, you know."

Chikage thinks, _Heads I kill him, tails I kill him_, flips the coin always in his pocket, and then slinks off to his room. 

Chigasaki 1, senpai 0.


	4. citron/itaru, mature

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> now that clockwork is on the eng server, it's time to post this!! i wrote it back in october but wanted to wait for eng server to catch up before posting. i don't think this contains any spoilers past where the eng server is currently, but if you do know citron's background, that probably helps too.

“I’ll meet you guys back at the dorm,” Sakuya says, one hand holding the dressing room door for Masumi and Tsuzuru. At Itaru’s nod, Sakuya hurries after their other troupemates, probably ready to fuss over Tsuzuru some more. The door falls shut behind them with a heavy thud, and Itaru turns back to Citron, who’s deflating before his eyes now that the others have left them alone. 

“Help me out of this costume,” Citron begs, his hands clasping Itaru’s wrists vice-tight. Itaru needs no forcing, but Citron’s S costume isn’t easy to remove. He laughs self-consciously and tugs at the leather straps of the red heart fastened to his chest. 

“This comes off first, right?”

“Yes~” Citron sounds breathless, his eyes glimmering as he watches Itaru fumble with the costume. “The straps unfasten in the back.”

He turns so Itaru can reach, and then guides Itaru’s hands to the fastenings of his frayed jacket, then the black turtleneck underneath. The fabric is damp with the sweat Citron worked up from performing, and Itaru peels it off to reveal Citron’s neck and shoulders. Now he can see the breaths heaving in Citron’s chest, the bob of his Adam’s apple when he swallows. Citron’s usual outfit leaves his throat deliciously exposed, a wide expanse of skin framed by his long hair, but there’s a certain appeal to uncovering it as well. 

Itaru ducks his head so he can plant a few kisses on Citron’s neck, and then he gets distracted, licking sweat from the dip of Citron’s collarbone. From the way Citron shivers and reaches up to grasp the back of Itaru’s collar, this isn’t unwelcome. His hand on Itaru’s collar, Citron walks them backwards, careful not to tangle their feet together, until Citron's back is pressed against the lockers. 

“Tilt your head back,” Itaru breathes, smoothing his hands up Citron’s sides. Yuki’s stitching is solid, but the rough fabric of the costume tickles his palms. Citron’s head falls back and hits the locker with a soft thunk, and Itaru surges forward, fastening his mouth to the warm skin of Citron’s throat and sucking a mark there. It won’t show with his costume for this play; Itaru can tell because the skin is sweaty from being covered in fabric for an hour. 

Citron makes a soft sound, maybe “Please,” and Itaru can’t help himself. He presses his lips to Citron’s neck again, again, kissing him, licking, sucking, until he can feel Citron’s shallow breaths under his skin, shivers of pleasure, and he loses himself in it, only thinking of what he can do with his lips and tongue that could draw another sound from Citron’s lips. 

Finally citron pants, “Itaru,” and Itaru looks up, only now realizing he’s out of breath too. Citron’s mouth is hanging open, and he gazes at Itaru with wide, fond eyes. 

“I didn’t leave any marks,” Itaru assures him quickly, because he hasn’t been quite so careful in the past, and there were _comments_. Citron just laughs. 

“This costume won’t show it anyway, you know.” 

“I know.” Itaru finds Citron’s hands and squeezes them. It’s hard to ask openly, so he stares at their fingers and opens his mouth. “You okay?”

“Getting there,” Citron murmurs. “Itaru helps.”

“I want to,” Itaru confesses. He has no idea why Citron gets weird after playing S, and he doesn’t think he’s allowed to ask. But it’s not like he can see Citron look like this—lost, like his heart was torn out—and not want to do _something_. The amount that he cares about Citron scares him, and yet, he savors the feeling that he can still care about someone so much, after everything that’s happened. 

He drops Citron’s hands, and meets his eyes. “We should get you out of the costume for real.” Citron’s eyes light up, and Itaru laughs. “I just meant—so we can hang it up. We can go to my room, maybe.” 

Citron nods, and he’s smiling faintly, already coming back to the bright, cheery Citron Itaru’s used to. “Okay~ Do you have grinding to do?”

“Well, obviously.” What is Itaru going to do, _lie_? “I have two hands, though, and I only need one to taptap.” He tugs lightly on the hem of Citron’s shirt. “There’s a lot of things I can do with my other hand, if you want.”

“Cuddle,” Citron says, shameless. 

“Yeah, that’s one of them,” Itaru grins, and leans in to kiss Citron. He doesn’t intend to linger, but Citron’s mouth is warm, and Itaru kisses him again, wanting to taste Citron’s lips further. 

When he pulls away next, Citron’s nearly breathless again, and Itaru’s not much better. 

“Your room,” Citron repeats, now almost grinning. It’s at Itaru’s expense, his fault for getting them distracted when he’s trying to move them out of costume and back to comfortable beds, but it means Citron’s nearly back to his usual cheer, and that makes it a win. Itaru kisses Citron’s chin, and Citron giggles, tilting his head to the side and regarding Itaru fondly. 

“Grab my clothes for me,” he hums. 

Before Itaru moves to do as he’s told, he gets a glimpse of Citron beaming to himself as he takes off his jacket fully, and Itaru finally relaxes.


	5. chikage/itaru, explicit

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> yes itaru has a tissue box prominently displayed in his room both before and after chikage moves in yes my partner saw it and asked if it was for jerking off yes i was unable to rest until i wrote this

“Ngh, senpai—” 

Itaru’s legs are shaking pretty badly, so it’s no surprise when Chikage strokes him a few more times and he spills over Chikage’s hand, sending come dripping down Chikage’s knuckles. Itaru shudders his way through his orgasm, his head tipping back against the couch cushions and giving Chikage a great view of his throat, just too far away for him to stretch forward and kiss. He retaliates, a little petty, by dragging the side of his thumbnail down the side of Itaru’s cock, knowing he’ll be oversensitive. Itaru twitches badly, and another dribble of come lands on Chikage’s fingers. 

“Messy,” Chikage says. He lets go of Itaru’s dick and turns his hand over, assessing the damage. Itaru must have been pretty pent-up, he decides. 

“Shhhh.” Itaru takes a deep breath, his eyes sliding closed as he comes down from his climax. “Aaahhhh. I can feel my work stress draining out of my body. You saved me, senpai.”

Chikage’s breath hitches with a laugh, betraying his cool facade. “Is that all I’m good for? Destressing?”

“You know that’s not true.” Now Itaru’s scrabbling weakly at the table beside them, his seeking fingers bumping against empty soda cans and a half-full bag of snacks before locating their quarry, the ever-present box of tissues on Itaru’s table. Chikage never questioned it, but the fact that Itaru reached so surely for it, like he’s been in this exact position before...

“Are those only there for jerking off?” Chikage asks. Itaru, halfway through the motion of grabbing a tissue, freezes, although his gamer reflexes prevent him from dropping it. 

“They’re multi-purpose tissues,” Itaru says, avoiding the question. He pulls out a fistful of tissues and starts wiping his come from Chikage’s hand. 

“I can just wash it off,” Chikage says, watching Itaru make little to no impact on the mess on his hand. “Unless you’d _prefer_ to use your jerk-off tissues.”

Itaru gives up on Chikage’s hand and reaches for the tissue box again, this time gripping the whole box with his hand. He raises it threateningly. Chikage does not stop. “Or maybe they’re for wiping your tears when Gawain’s SSR doesn’t come home.”

“I want my orgasm back,” Itaru grumbles. He starts to roll off the couch, but in his post-orgasm state his legs shiver badly when he tries to stand, and he collapses again. “God.”

Chikage leans over him, careful not to get his still-sticky hand on Itaru’s shirt (a kindness Itaru rarely affords _him_), and kisses Itaru gently. Itaru huffs against Chikage’s mouth, but returns the kiss, before turning his head away. “Go wash your hand.”

“Hm.” Chikage stands, balling up the dirty tissues, and then passes Itaru the full box. “Clean yourself up, too.”

“I was getting there.”

“Okay.” Chikage makes a detour to Itaru’s desk to throw away the tissues in his trash can, and then steps carefully out of the room, shutting the door neatly behind him. He conceals his messy hand at his side until he’s inside the bathroom, getting away with this easily since no one else is awake at this hour, and then applies soap and washes it quickly, relaxing at the familiar motions. 

He catches sight of himself in the mirror, and pauses. His cheeks are flushed lightly, which Itaru would probably say is a good look on him. And he’s smiling, which he was barely aware of. When he tries to school his expression back to neutral, it’s harder than usual. 

Silly thing to look so happy about, he thinks, and shuts the faucet off.


	6. citron/itaru, mature (act 8)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> this contains spoilers for act 8, as well as an indirect reference to the "i come with the night" event. 
> 
> the context here is that citron's asked chikage to sneak him out of japan the following morning, so he knows it's his last night, but itaru doesn't.

Itaru doesn’t like the look on Citron's face as he pulls away, sitting back against the pillows. His brow is too furrowed, his lips pursed too tight. He won’t return to Zahra for another several days, but maybe it’s weighing heavy on him tonight. The deadline. 

It’s probably something Citron will not want to talk about, but Itaru deadpans anyway, “After all my whaling for you, I still didn’t pull the super rare smiling Citron SSR, huh.”

Citron startles, looking up at Itaru as if jolted out of his thoughts. “Eeh? No, no, I definitely came home to you, Itaru. See?” The smile he gives doesn’t reach his eyes, though, and Itaru only knows because he’s a master of fake smiles himself. 

_I thought you were someone who smiled more naturally_, his brain supplies, and Itaru wants to smash his head with a rock. He settles instead for leaning in and kissing Citron again, savoring the warm press of his lips. 

“You should kiss me every night until you go,” he breathes, snaking his arms around Citron's neck. 

He thinks this will cheer Citron up, but instead Citron barks out a laugh, and there’s not a trace of happiness in the sound. “Okay,” he hums, and he kisses Itaru again, his breaths coming faster now, his chest heaving against Itaru’s own. “Every night... I can do that.”


	7. omi/kazunari, mature (kissing)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> "why is all your kazuomi m-rated" i don't know
> 
> i wrote this last august so no it is not for rarepair week

When Omi pulls back, Kazunari chases after his lips, slotting their mouths together again with an urgency that surprises even himself. He feels Omi give a quiet, amused huff, but he’s not pushing Kazunari away, either, so Kazunari keeps going, squirming forward until he’s half in Omi’s lap, and then he manages to get Omi’s arms slung around him, his kisses erring towards sloppy as he focuses on their arms. Omi huffs again, and as soon as Kazunari releases Omi’s arms, Omi loosens his hold on Kazunari, _not_ getting the hint. Kazunari reluctantly breaks the kiss and sits back, giving Omi a Look. 

“What,” Omi says. His voice is low, already husky just from kisses, and it sends a shiver down Kazunari’s spine. Then Omi clears his throat, tragically unaware of his own sexiness. 

“I like it when your arms are around me,” Kazunari tells him, eyeing Omi’s mouth. God, he wants to kiss him. Why can’t Omi just read his mind?

“I can hug you?” Omi tries, and lifts his arms again. Kazunari shakes his head quickly. 

“No, I—“ It’s embarrassing, but it might be the fastest way to communicate what he wants so they can get back to making out. “Remember e~arlier? When you grabbed my arms and shifted me out of the way so you could get into the pantry behind me?”

Omi nods. 

“I want it like that.”

“Ah...” Omi blinks, his lovely long eyelashes casting faint shadows on his cheeks. He's really too handsome. “That... That hard?”

“Please,” Kazunari says, and flutters his own eyelashes for good measure.

Omi thinks for a moment—about what, Kazunari can only imagine. Then Omi lifts his hands again and fastens them onto Kazunari’s arms, just below his shoulders, and tightens his grip just enough that Kazunari can feel it in his chest, in his gut. 

Kazunari swallows, audible in the space between them. 

“Like that?” Omi asks, and when he lifts his eyes to meet Kazunari’s, his gaze is dark, piercing. Kazunari feels it in his chest, too. 

He nods, and then surges forward—as much as Omi’s grip on his arms will allow—and kisses Omi again.


	8. chikage/itaru, mature (inner palace ladies event)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> lot of prop work in these chikaitas huh
> 
> this is set during the "this is the inner palace, the flower garden" event. i don't... think there's actually a chance they could have this conversation, so please suspend your disbelief a little bit for me

“Are you looking at how good my ass looks in this costume?” Itaru steps ahead of Chikage, posing stupidly in the doorway. Chikage catches up to him in one easy stride, giving him a thoughtful once-over as they move through the door into the hall. 

“Hm. It might be nice to mess around in these costumes,” Chikage says idly, lifting one of the many sashes Itaru’s wrapped in and examining it. If Itaru didn’t know better, he might think Chikage was commenting on the weather. 

Except he’s been dating the man for six months, and Chikage doesn’t really ‘mess around’. Itaru tugs the sash out of Chikage’s hands. “Too many layers. I'd go soft before you got half of them off.”

“On the contrary,” Chikage says. He hesitates, and catches Itaru’s eye for full effect. “I’d like to see how many layers I can make you soak through.”

Heat rushes through Itaru so quickly that he stumbles and has to catch himself against the wall. Chikage puts a hand over his mouth,  _ definitely _ laughing at him, the bastard. Itaru irritably straightens the layers in question. “Fuck you. These clothes are too expensive to risk like that,” he adds as an afterthought. 

“You’re right. Too bad, then,” Chikage hums.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> this has a loose reference to itaru being trans, but it's so small that i don't think it merits tagging

**Author's Note:**

> hit me up on [twitter](http://twitter.com/futarinoshoutai)!!!


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